My Little Bruiser

Having grown up with two younger brothers, I'm well aware of a little boy's ability to get injured in even the safest of locations. Back in the 1980's, before the lucrative baby-proofing business exploded, my brothers each ended up in the emergency room at least a handful of times. Usually requiring stitches, their injuries were caused mostly by glass coffee tables and fireplace hearths. In fact, our family room probably contained more sharp angles than a geometry textbook. Children of my generation weren't enclosed in plastic, bubble-wrapped bubbles like today's youth. We got hurt, and our parents dealt with the consequences.

Perhaps it's a form of celestial "payback," then, that Daniel is such a little daredevil. He has no fear of anything, especially if it involves climbing. As an infant, he remained blissfully injury-free (except for those awful self-inflicted facial scratches, but that was hardly my fault -- his nails were very difficult to file!). Now that he's walking (running), however, he suffers a minor injury at least twice a day. I'll hear him wailing from another room in the house and I'll know that one of three occurences has taken place: A. He dove headfirst into the wooden coffee table. B. He toppled off of the fireplace hearth while trying to step down. or C. His cozy coupe or some other riding toy capsized on top of him. Thankfully, these have all been minor injuries -- no blood, just some bruising. They have all occurred within the scrutiny-free confines of our home, where no one can accuse me of skimping on the babyproofing.

Today, during playgroup at Kim's house, Daniel decided to push the limits of safety in an unfamiliar environment. He spent about 20 minutes standing on a wooden child-sized chair, attempting to climb even higher onto the armrest. Minutes after I talked him down from that ledge, he started running around like his pants were on fire. Of course he tripped and fell, banging his mouth on the coffee table. I picked him up and comforted him while he cried tears of pain and surprise ("Who put that darn table there?"), and realized that his gums were bleeding a little bit. His first bloody injury! It felt like a significant milestone. The bleeding stopped quickly and Daniel was fine, but it seemed like we had entered a new phase of boyhood. It's just a matter of time before my invincible little boy gets knocked down to size -- again and again.

Shout-Out to the Aunts

This is a special Rosh Hashanah-eve post for Daniel's Aunt Caitlin and Aunt Chandra. They requested more postings and more photos. Here you go, ladies!

Pseudo-Sick Days

When I was younger, I loved sick days. Never one to receive the perfect attendance award, I probably missed a couple of days each school year due to some "illness." Don't get me wrong, some of these were legitimate sicknesses. Others...not so much. But the routine was always the same: pajamas or sweats all day long, chicken soup or some other "comfort" food for lunch, and lots of soap operas and game shows. Sick days were cozy and intimate, and I could truly relax while my Mom catered to my needs.

Fast forward about 20 years. I'm the Mommy now, and the world doesn't stop turning just because I'm sick. Daniel still needs his Mommy, whether she feels nauseous or not. He still needs to be dressed, fed, and entertained. Unfortunately, he's not yet at the age where an Elmo DVD will keep his attention long enough for me to put my feet up. Sick days now are more a nuisance than anything else. If I want the day to go smoothly, I MUST be at the top of my game -- physically and mentally. I can't tell Daniel to feed himself just because I feel like there's a dumbbell on top of my head. I can't expect him to play quietly in his playroom just because every muscle in my body aches. Mommies have to suck it up and deal with it. We are the caretakers, not the cared-for. This is what we signed up for when we decided to have kids in the first place.

So while naptime may give me a much-needed break, during which I may crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, sick days as I once knew them are gone forever. Where's Mary Poppins when you need her?

The Fascination of Play

Daniel is an explorer. He is endlessly curious about the world around him, touching and tasting his way through the house on a daily basis. His favorite toys are those which open and close. He delights in manipulating switches and latches, and runs his fingers over anything even closely resembling a power button. I find Daniel's play habits fascinating. I could sit and watch him for hours as he makes sense of what he sees and feels.

His current obsession is the old-school play kitchen at Mommy and Me. I couldn't lure him away from there last week.
He must have opened and closed the oven and refrigerator a thousand times -- just like he does at home! I watched him methodically put items in and take them out. He seemed to have his own rationale to the way things should be. I could practically see his amazing brain at work. There's nothing like his reaction when he recognizes a cause and effect relationship for the first time. He pushes a button and a weasel pops out of the hole. He holds down the handle on the toy teapot and it whistles. His whole face lights up with understanding. "I did it!"

What is perhaps most fascinating is the intent with which he plays. He always has a goal in mind. Put all of the balls in the basket. Open and close the door until it makes a squeaking sound. Or, in the case of the toy kitchen, put all of the food away. In its proper place, of course! He IS my child, after all.

Grandparent Bliss

Why is it that Daniel can be so cooperative when his grandparents are there to witness it? I think I already know the answer -- they do not radiate any worry or stress in his direction, only pure joy. As his mother, it is inevitable that I will get bent out of shape when he refuses to eat or tries to stick his hands in his poop. His grandparents think that his poop is the most glorious thing in the world. They have already weathered the storm that is parenthood, and now get the privilege of sitting back to watch THEIR children learn the same lessons they did 30 years earlier. Daniel's angry whining may upset me, but it reminds my parents of the years of toddlerhood they endured and (most significantly) survived. I think there's a saying that says something like becoming a grandparent is your reward for enduring being a parent. Great -- something to look forward to!

After yesterday's debacle of food-spitting and general grumpiness, I was yearning for some relief. My relief came in the form of Daniel's grandparents (my parents), who met us for lunch. I don't know if it was simply their presence that distracted Daniel from his usual mealtime antics, but he was a perfect angel -- and a darn hungry one at that! He ate more in this meal alone than he had all day yesterday. Go figure! I suppose toddlers are not meant to make any sense. As long as he was happy and satisfied, I wasn't going to analyze the situation. Now only if they could have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him every day...

A Crack in the Facade

Today was one of those days when you second-guess every action you take and every decision you make. Daniel wanted to play games instead of eat his breakfast, and after he let his food spill out of his mouth and down his chin for the fourth time, I decided that breakfast was over. Should I have persisted? He may have eaten more, but it would have taken at least another half-hour. We were already running late for Gymboree. I got angry with him when I was changing his diaper. It was time to leave and he kept rolling over and coming dangerously close to flinging his dirty diaper onto the floor. We finally got to Gymboree, where Daniel spent the entire class walking away from the group and yelling in frustration every time he got stuck on a piece of equipment. Already exasperated, I spent the entire class listening to the other mommies talk about how far along they were in their second pregnancies. Was everyone in Gymboree today pregnant? It sure seemed that way. I was happy to get out of there.

Lunch went more smoothly and Daniel went right down for his nap, but I am just now catching my breath and reflecting on the morning. I guess I should be thrilled that my very good days as a stay-at-home mom greatly outweigh my not-so-sunny days. There will always be someone having a better day than me, and someone having a much worse day. Sometimes, though, I think it's healthy to admit that it wasn't a good day to be a stay-at-home mom. I'm always suspicious of those moms who insist that everything is sunshine and roses, all of the time. This is hard work. Stressful, tiring, sometimes lonely, sometimes unrewarding. So why am I so jealous of the pregnant mommies at Gymboree?

Kissing 101

As many kisses as you shower upon your precious baby, he or she does not really reciprocate the affection. I used to kiss Daniel's eyes, belly, feet, etc., and I'd be lucky to get a gaseous smile in return. As a toddler, however, Daniel is beginning to learn some loving gestures. The only thing more delicious than rubbing noses with him at bedtime is getting a full-blown mouth-to-mouth kiss. I lean in towards his face, making a kissy-kissy sound. Sometimes he smacks me upside the head, sometimes he turns his head in annoyance, and sometimes he kisses me back. This is no ordinary kiss. This is an open-mouthed, big smile, lots of teeth kiss. I can remember kisses from others that have made my knees weak, but this one takes the cake. Its spontaneity is what makes it so swoon-inducing. I never know whether I'm going to get whacked or kissed. I've started to ask Daniel for a kiss, but so far he does not want to cooperate with my request. Peter once told me that he'd had a dream in which Daniel kissed him willingly on the lips. I know that day will come and I cannot wait. One day, my gorgeous little boy will look into my eyes and say, "Mommy, I want to marry you." And my knees will get weak.